Tea Time
by BrutallyRomantic
Summary: "Are you having nightmares again?" Sometimes an occasional encounter can make more of a difference than expected. Twoshot
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter in no way, shape or form.**

 **This is just a little thing that popped up in my head, a cute little one shot.**

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 _Are you having nightmares again?_

The slightly clumsy clink of cup set on saucer by a shaky hand is the only answer Narcissa received from the girl sitting opposite her, hardly a surprise. It is the only answer the witch needs.

 _I'm sorry,_ Narcissa responded to the silence.

Moving her pawn forward one space on the chess board, Hermione kept her eyes directed downwards, apparently focusing on the game. It had become a peculiar ritual, this.

Nearly a year ago, after the destruction of Hogwarts in the war and the death of the Dark Lord, all had been in ruins. Not the least of which included Narcissa's personal life. With her husband barely pardoned and her son working out of the country, home had become cold despite the initial warmth and relief of surviving the battle intact. As a result, the blonde witch had taken to sneaking out and frequenting a little known café in the corner of Diagon Alley. After a month of nearly daily patronage and tea, she was found out.

Perhaps found out was a bit too strong. She was _seen_ rather, by none other than the brightest witch of the age. Narcissa breathed into her teacup at the memory, the way her heart had sped in reaction to the witch who once graced her floor. Shame flushed her cheeks and made it impossible for her to finish reading the article she had begun that day, the mere eye contact that she had made with the girl leaving her fleeing the café.

Narcissa had avoided the place for the next week. That is, until she once again felt claustrophobic in the cloyingly large empty spaces in the Manor, so filled with awful memories.

The café was hers for an hour, until Hermione appeared once more. This time, however, Narcissa held her ground, though she avoided looking up from her paper at all costs. The girl chose a table on the opposite side of the little café, seated with a scone and a book.

Even with her eyes glued to the Prophet, the blonde witch could make out Hermione's distant outline. Weeks passed in this manner.

Becoming slowly comfortable with the ritual, Narcissa noticed when one afternoon, Hermione did not appear to take up her adopted table. Try as she might, flipping through her paper and eating more than one muffin, the woman could not keep her eyes from drifting to the abandoned table and wondering.

Three days passed in Hermione's absence, and with each Narcissa's curiosity grew. Where was the girl that had become a bit of a fixture in the space of mere weeks? Her return was celebrated with a scone; Narcissa made certain that the waitress understood that Hermione was not to know who had sent it to her table.

How funny, that she thought a scone could suffice as an apology. An apology? The thought startled the witch as she turned it over and examined it before tucking it away for later. Apologies were for the inferior.

The following day, Narcissa found to her surprise that Hermione was already at her table, reading. In general, the blonde witch came sometime around brunch, and the girl sometime after lunch. Yet here they both were, just barely before brunch time, and on Narcissa's table sat a scone.

She could not make eye contact, but when she was certain Hermione was not looking, Narcissa glanced up and saw that the girl was wearing the vaguest sort of smile. How pretty.

Oh dear, another thought to be put away for later.

Thus began another ritual, each attempting to outdo the other. Some days, Narcissa would arrive first and be sure that a scone was left for Hermione, and other days it would happen in the opposite fashion. It was a balm on a wound that Narcissa had yet to bandage, and she somehow suspected that it might be that way for Hermione as well.

There was a special day, one which might have been any other day but for the extra little gift sitting beside the scone on Hermione's table. Narcissa had arrived precisely as the little café opened that day, just to be sure that she would arrive first. The book was nothing very special, merely a good piece of wizarding literature that she had enjoyed in the past. She had purchased a new copy on a whim and chosen to leave it for the girl who was always reading.

The light in Hermione's eyes when they fell on the book was surprise and delight, and Narcissa allowed eye contact. Just this once, she promised herself.

 _Thank you_ , Hermione had said to her, the first spoken words since the beginning of this…these encounters. Their rituals.

Narcissa nodded and mirrored to the girl that same vague smile that had painted Hermione's features after that first scone. She quite liked the girl's smile.

As ever, Hermione could not let things go unbalanced, the very next day finding a well-loved copy of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' sitting on Narcissa's table. Muggle literature. Narcissa was taken aback at first, and then made a very large step by reading, and an even larger by enjoying.

 _Thank you_ , she said to Hermione, returning the familiar words.

The literature exchange continued, taking place of scones, as both women were avid readers. They became sort of compatriots in the arts, sharing the best bits of their own world.

There came a day with no book on Narcissa's table, and Hermione was not yet there. Sitting alone, and bookless, the witch drank her tea slowly and wondered at the girl's absence. She wouldn't say she was worried. Even if she was. She wouldn't say it. Or perhaps not worry but impatience, the sort where you cannot wait for something that has become a staple of everyday life.

Hermione arrived with a chess board, and Narcissa was surprised as she set it on her table and took the seat opposite her.

 _Hello_ , Hermione started shyly, placing a leather pouch beside the wooden board. _Would you like to play?_

 _Very well,_ the witch responded with less uncertainty than she had felt. And so they played.

Each day brought a game with the funny little wooden pieces that did not look anything like wizard's chess. Narcissa suspected that this was Hermione's very own muggle made board, and it made it all the more unique.

With the game came the small talk, though mostly of books. Narcissa admitted to enjoying the literature, as Hermione thanked her for the wizarding books she had not yet encountered. Then silence, and the silence was comfortable.

There was a day in which Hermione appeared looking worn, the dark shadows under her eyes signaling a lack of sleep. A lack of restfulness. Narcissa said nothing until the shadows deepened, and on the fourth day of this she asked, _Have you been sleeping well?_

Hermione remained silent for two turns, moving her pieces without so much as a peep and Narcissa ceased expecting an answer.

 _I have been having nightmares._ Hermione admitted this in a small voice, and it brought the other witch back to the place of shame and guilt, to where the girl was on her Manor floor.

 _I'm sorry_ , said Narcissa in an equally small voice that drew Hermione's shocked gaze up with a jerk.

Hermione appeared to grow healthier. Narcissa's chess game improved. The small talk of literature returned.

But every couple of weeks, Hermione's eyes would darken again, and Narcissa would worry. And she would apologize after asking, _Are you having nightmares again?_


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's outline was visible through the café's misted window, but Narcissa was lingering outside. Her hands were warm in their leather gloves, a charmed pair that held enough heat to keep one's fingers from freezing. The witch's legs protested the dalliance outside however, the wind cutting up under her long skirt and slicing through stockings as if they weren't there. Still Narcissa stalled. In her hands was a book, a very special book that she had thought to wrap thoughtfully in gold paper, small enchanted silver trees doing little shimmies across the glittering packaging. She scolded herself for the small shudders that dragged cold fingers up her spine, telling herself that this was just as any other day.

Nearly a year had passed since that first game of chess, and while the last Christmas had not seen interaction between Narcissa and Hermione in any respect since…well, the obvious, this one was different. It was late January when the games began, and now Christmas had come once more. Narcissa had half expected to come to the café and, being that it was already the 23rd of December, find an empty table in the spot she had come to see as her own. But no. A delicate silhouette graced the normal place, and it set the witch's nerves aflutter. Scowling more openly than she might've were she already indoors, Narcissa again reminded herself that it wasn't as if she had never given the younger witch a gift. Books had passed between their hands almost as frequently as their chess games. But somehow, the fact that it was Christmas made all the more…. Something.

There was no little bell over the door, but an enchanted 'ting' did ring out as Narcissa entered the establishment. A smile blossomed on Hermione's face as she met Narcissa's gaze, standing to greet her. It was strange, Narcissa thought, as she had never done so before, and it almost looked as if the brunette witch might hug her. A shadow of embarrassment and something else passed over Hermione's face, and she instead reached for Narcissa's hand. The thought that she might've been able to receive her first hug since her son's visit months earlier was Narcissa's own passing shadow, and caused a bubble of emotion she wasn't prepared to deal with.

"Happy Christmas!" Hermione said merrily, if slightly subdued, as she shook Narcissa's hand firmly. Still, it was more contact than the witch had experienced in a while.

"It's a bit early yet", teased Narcissa, though with a smile. Her hand was held behind her back, the gift concealed. Hermione gave a small laugh and moved to sit back down, Narcissa following and seating herself across from the witch. "I'm a bit surprised to see you. Do you not celebrate with your family?" The question was sincere, but Narcissa hadn't thought of the bite it might hold for her own self, summoning thoughts of her own magnificent Christmas tree and the empty manor it called home. Hermione shifted in her seat, eyes dropping from Narcissa's for a moment before her face was ruled by a smile that could only be classified as wry.

"I plan to go home and see my family, but I do still like to get away. It is a little strange to be back in the muggle world sometimes."

"I imagine so", commented Narcissa, uncertain of what else to say.

"And yourself?" asked Hermione in response, before she really thought. When Narcissa's expression washed itself clean, Hermione flinched. She hated doing that. There were times, too often she feared, that something she said provoked this reaction in the older witch. Her face would grow smooth and no emotion could escape. Hermione had come to recognize and identify this as a sort of regal mask to some degree, and Narcissa as a queen in her own right, looking right at home in her fine leathers and furs. Her cheeks pinked as Narcissa answered calmly, "I am sure that I will see my family come Christmas morning." It was all she said before glancing down into her lap, remembering the gift still hidden there. "This is for you", she said briskly, holding out the parcel across the table, her features held carefully neutral. Hermione was surprised and pleased, though bashing herself slightly for not having finished her own gift for the witch sooner.. Of course Narcissa would have thought of sharing a gift before Christmas, in the cafe and at their leisure. After all, she had started it all.

With that thought in mind, Hermione took the present gingerly, not wishing to seem too over eager. But it was hard. Narcissa, though she might not have seemed it before, had a surprisingly good taste in literature. Then again, thought the girl, she had yet to see a single thing that Narcissa didn't have good taste in. Except people, perhaps, came the sour thought. It was banished swiftly as Hermione held the rectangle in both hands. It felt like a book, and Hermione reasoned that it was one, but one could never be sure with magic.

Narcissa's eye tracked the girl's reaction, feeling just a little pleased when Hermione's eyes lit up, as they had with that first book. This one was certainly going to show up her first gift however. Hermione hesitated, a small smile curling her lips at the enchanted wrapping, her finger traced a dancing tree. "Can I open it now, or must I wait until Christmas?" It was half a tease and half a question. How was she to know what Narcissa expected?

"Well, if you promise to still be good, I feel sure Father Christmas won't mind one early present", Narcissa's answer came playfully, helping to ease the tension and her expression. Hermione's face remained pink as she gave a small laugh and tore gently into the paper. Dropping a pile of gold onto the table as she revealed the gift, confusion was then smothered by delight as she opened what had appeared to be a book at first glance. The cover was elegantly wrought with the symbol of the Black family, a questionable choice in present to this particular witch, but it was a family…not quite an heirloom but something like one hundred years old and made on special orders of some ancestor or other that had also been a fan of reading. Though it appeared to be just another book from the outside, the inside presented a small and no doubt pricey collection of books picked from Narcissa's own library. There were several novels that the blonde witch had yet to share with Hermione, first editions and rare enough that she was reasonably confident the younger witch wouldn't have read them, but beside the stories were three books of spells that Narcissa was certain Hermione would not have seen.

"Cromwell's Collection of Spells and Enchantments for the Exceptional Witch or Wizard on the Battlefield", Hermione read aloud, tracing the spine of one spellbook. The other two held no title on their spines, but the magic they possessed was clear by the sheen of the leather that seemed to shudder when the brunette stroked the spine. Wide eyes looked up to Narcissa, unsure and overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say", she said honestly, feeling that the moment called for the obvious statement. Narcissa gave her head a shake, lifting a hand.

"Please, I merely wanted to make sure these tomes were being used by a talented witch." Hermione shifted at the compliment, her smile fighting to get through the shy nature that had just increased by leaps and bounds.

"I don't have anything for you", said Hermione next, closing the enchanted book and stroking her fingers over the family crest. She would undoubtedly study it later. Narcissa again shook her head, a thought rebelling and wishing only Hermione's forgiveness. Those damned stray thoughts.

"I am thankful for your company", Narcissa responded simply, and it was true. The last year had been made brighter by the young witch. Where Narcissa had once only felt guilt at the brown eyes that dulled when she was unable to sleep, plagued by the dreams of events that Narcissa did not even try to stop, now she found a peculiar sort of comfort. Something had happened in the time, an understanding of some kind.

The war had destroyed many things, but Hermione had been determined not to allow it to destroy her sense of self. Admittedly, that first time she spotted Narcissa in the café she had heard such good things about, she was stunned. Had Narcissa not fled, Hermione certainly would have. But in the week of visits without sight of the blonde, Hermione had grown curious. When Narcissa returned, it was odd. Hermione felt almost suffocated by her presence, and yet she continued to frequent the café, hoping that perhaps Narcissa would too. Her wish was granted, and there was a bond that formed. Hermione had been born on one side of the war, and she came to realize that Narcissa had as well. But, when given the choice between winning the war, or winning her family, the blonde had chosen family. Despite the actions of Narcissa' past, that had gone a long way in Hermione's personal revelations concerning the blonde and the potential forgiveness she could offer. And in the end, thought Hermione, forgiving Narcissa might do a fair amount towards helping to banish that hold that her sister had over her mind. Long dead, and still Hermione was tormented.

"Have you been sleeping well?" The question was habitual when Hermione slipped away for too long, obviously into her thoughts. It had become more than the sum of the words Narcissa spoke, and instead was now like a code. The question showed care, Narcissa cared where Hermione's mind was, and that alone seemed to help. The more angry parts of Hermione's thoughts declared that it didn't matter an ounce what Narcissa thought. She would always be a pureblood elitist and nothing she did would ever make up for the torture she stood by and allowed to happen. These were the parts that caused Hermione to lose sleep nearly as often as the nightmares.

"I'm alright", Hermione answered, rather than go with the customary silence. Narcissa blinked, her lips curling at the sides at the response. Perhaps the younger witch really would be okay. And perhaps she would be forgiven eventually. "In any case", Hermione said suddenly, attempting to brush away the atmosphere that had suddenly grown heavy and reaching for the little bag of chess pieces, "I do believe it's time for your next loss."

"Oh, you think so?" Narcissa was ablaze with the competitive spirit, just as eager to ignore the serious issues still lingering between them. "We shall see."

Draco did stop by on Christmas morning, much to his mother's delight, but Lucius remained at his own manor. The man hadn't the manners to tell Narcissa himself, she had to hear from her son, who could see the rage and hurt even as Narcissa tried to conceal it. The man had no balls, as far as she was concerned. From the moment he had been pardoned, he'd retreated to a manor across the country, apparently too afraid to face his wife and the consequences of his actions and choices. Now, Narcissa had plenty to say to the man, but she hadn't been truly infuriated until the first week had passed with no communication whatsoever. She had expected the days of silence, reveled in it even, as the manor had been far more peaceful than it had been in years, but enough was enough. Owl after owl she sent, vacillating between fury and a homesickness for the man she had fallen in love with. The young married couple had been happy once, and even when Draco was small there was some sort of joy in the marriage, but the years had taken their toll. Lucius's choices had taken their toll, and what his own actions hadn't ruined, the Dark Lord had. At this point, hoping for Lucius's return was as much a dread as it was a wish, and there was a large part of Narcissa that hoped the man never came back. But he was her husband, and there would always be an ache in her heart for him.

Fortunately, Draco had been the perfect son for the entirety of the day. Unfortunately, Narcissa found herself overcome with curiosity over what the young witch she might dare call 'friend' would be doing at each moment. Draco, luckily, noticed her distraction only twice, but he assumed it was due to his father. Narcissa couldn't find the words to tell him that her thoughts were occupied by someone who was his father's utter opposite. But, of course, it wasn't the same kind of thoughts that she held for the two of them. That would be ridiculous. One was her husband, and one was a girl that she had watched her sister torture on her floor. The marble still looked discolored. Not that Narcissa ever looked at it. She had a large rug laid down over a year ago and hadn't allowed it to be budged since.

When Draco was gone, Narcissa seated herself before the fireplace beside her merrily shining Christmas tree. She held a glass up to the tree, toasting the time of year and the stars outside that seemed to compete with her bright tree. They twinkled as if they knew something she did not. The ring of a magical doorbell rang through the manor, startling Narcissa from her thoughts. That wouldn't be Draco, he would have just entered through the fireplace, or apparition. The grand front doors didn't make a sound when they opened, so perfectly charmed were they, but the squeaky voice of a house elf was almost audible from where Narcissa sat. She couldn't hear who responded, but she didn't have to wait long. The house elf, Lala, appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. "Miss Hermione Granger, my Lady. Shall I send her away?"

Narcissa was stunned, there was no other word for it. She was well and truly stunned. Hermione Granger, here again. Her breathing grew short and for a moment the elf looked on with concern as her mistress looked like she might faint dead away, so pale was she. But Narcissa pressed her lips into a thin lip to steady herself, then shook her head. "Show her in." The elf showed no surprise, though she felt it. She hurried to obey and a long minute passed, Narcissa still in her chair with a wine glass held tight in her fingers.

Nearly as pale as Narcissa as she entered the sitting room, Hermione's own face was drawn and tight, but she offered a small smile in greeting. "Hello", she said, after no response came to the elf announcing her presence. Narcissa tried very hard to keep her face neutral. In her own home, her domain, she should have been able to do it. But the place was as much prison as sanctuary and her voice faltered as she echoed back, "Hello." Then, shaking off the utter shock of the girl being once again in her home, though on very different terms, Narcissa stood and set her glass aside. "I must admit that I'm stunned." Hermione shrugged with one shoulder, and it was then that Narcissa noticed something in her hands.

"Yes, well.. I supposed I should give you this in return sooner, rather than later." Hermione swore inwardly at how stiff her voice was, even if she was relieved that Narcissa also seemed awkward due to her presence. What had she been thinking? The parcel in her hands was nothing, a scrap of nothing, she should know better. Narcissa could afford a hundred things better. A thousand even. But that just wasn't who Hermione was. She could never let things be unsettled. Paying Narcissa back for her gift was only natural. Though she could admit, just a little, that this might not be only about paying the older witch back. Holding out the box wrapped in green and red striped paper, Hermione kept from flinching when Narcissa approached.

Back in the café, where they both were just patrons, it seemed to aid Hermione in facing the regal woman. But here, in her home, Hermione was helpless against the essence of who the pureblood was. She was not very much taller, it had to have been the shoes she was wearing, but the long flowing silken silver dress robes that Narcissa had donned were hiding her footwear. Her hair hung loose, curling about her face but for a few strands pulled behind her head, eyes lit up by the reflection of the fire off of her robes. It created quite a picture, and adding the magnificence to Narcissa's own nearly royal bearing, it was rather overwhelming. Hermione shivered when Narcissa's surprisingly warm fingers brushed hers as she took the package. She was just cold, she told herself.

"Thank you", Narcissa said as she took the gift, marveling at the perfectly twisted red bow that she suspected the younger witch had done by hand. She was raised by muggles, after all. Where that once would have seemed such a horror, now Narcissa found fascination, if not pity. Really, how did they live without magic? She hesitated before tugging at the pretty bow, Hermione's anxious eyes watching on. Tearing at the paper, Narcissa found in her hands a small wooden box, flat like a jewelry box. She opened it and couldn't keep her lips from parting in surprise. Inside, nestled on burgundy velvet, a necklace greeted her with a silver sparkle. The silver pendant was a twist of metal as thick as two or three strands of thread held together curled into a delicate rune, one the witch vaguely recognized but could not place. When Narcissa tapped a finger to the pendant, feeling the magic down to her bones, there was a small purple spark and it grew warm, a peaceful sensation washing over the blonde witch. "Oh", came the surprised sound. That was new.

"I used the after effect of a Stupefy to fuse several strands of silver together, and then infused the whole thing with a calming draught. I thought the whole thing might be nice whenever you're stressed. You've seemed bothered before, and more often lately." The words rushed from Hermione's lips, startling Narcissa with their accuracy. She had, in fact, been feeling bothered as of late, mostly due to the strange connection she felt with the very witch making this observation. But she had believed she was hiding it well. Apparently that wasn't so.

"I see." Narcissa traced the rune again, wondering. "What does this mean?"

Hermione stepped close to Narcissa to look down at the necklace as well, anything to avoid the witch's gaze. So far, the response to her gift wasn't as entirely positive as she had hoped, but it wasn't entirely negative either, so Hermione held out hope that it was being received well.

"It means, roughly, 'New Year'. I thought it would be a nice symbol, perhaps, that we've been…chatting for nearly a year", Hermione paused to take a breath, looking only down at the necklace, then continued, "And perhaps also, a nice symbol of hope for another year of company." Narcissa was touched by the thought that went into this gift, and the obvious magical skill required to make it.

One hand lifted to touch her bare neck, noting that she hadn't donned a necklace, even when her neck was bare, since six months ago when she had removed the one that Lucius had given her for their third anniversary. Perhaps she needed a change. Glancing at Hermione, who was still avoiding her eye, Narcissa wore a smile.

"I like it", she finally said, "It's beautiful. Would you help me put it on?" Narcissa was turning and setting the box aside, removing the necklace, as she asked, so she didn't see how Hermione brightened, rivaling her Christmas tree, at the praise, however mild.

"It'd be my pleasure", answered Hermione honestly, taking the necklace from Narcissa. The blonde witch presented her back, lifting her hair. Hermione reached around, careful not to make contact with the oh-so-pale flesh as she fastened the catch. Her anxiety at once more being in the manor was momentarily forgotten. As Narcissa let her hair drop, Hermione caught a waft of her soap, something with orange.

"How does it look?" Narcissa asked, to which Hermione smiled and finally met Narcissa's eye again. The blonde locks fanned around the older witch's face, her expression happier than when Hermione had entered, a hint of teeth almost showing in her smile.

"Lovely."

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 **Author's Note:** So this was definitely intended to be a one shot, but I came across some inspiration the other day and this second part was born. I was going to save it until Christmas, but after the disastrous results of the election in America, I figured some of us could use a pick up. There's a remote possibility of another short addition to this.


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